


Say My Name

by SassyEggs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sansan Secret Santa in July
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 20:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20020609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: Sansa is not the same girl she used to be though there is one detail of her past she misses





	Say My Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadJJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadJJ/gifts).



> For MadJJ and the Sansan Secret Santa in July
> 
> The prompt was: 'Still a little bird.' Bonus word was 'better.'
> 
> Sorry I'm late!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sansa suppressed a shiver and pulled her cloak tighter around her body, arranged the hood snuggly over her head. She should be tucked warmly in bed, she knew that. Instead she continued her typically pointless journey in silence, rounding the parapet and taking the steps to the upper bailey. And sighed. She really never thought it would take this long. 

A week had passed since Sandor Clegane had arrived in Winterfell, a full seven days since he’d rode into her castle and she’d still had no chance to speak to him. It was his voice she missed the most she decided. Now that she’d seen him all the memories came back- the hook in his nose and the color of his hair, the breadth of this shoulders and the length in his stride. Everything except the voice. And so she’d taken to wandering after the sun had gone down, hours spent walking the frigid grounds of Winterfell and expecting to find him around every corner. Seemed like it happened all the time in King’s Landing, but now that she _wanted_ it to happen it was taking far too long.

“Girl,” a voice rasped behind her, eliciting a startled puff of white air that she hoped he didn’t notice. 

“Don’t call me that,” she said, turning to face him. 

She expected fire in his eyes, like before. Expected him to tease her or to argue with her. Like before. Instead the Hound seemed to wilt before her very eyes. 

“Of course,” he nodded and lowered his head. “Lady Stark.” 

“Don’t call me that, either.” 

He paused. Raised a brow. She’d said it gently, hoping to coax him towards a different conclusion though perhaps she’d said it just a little too breathlessly. It had the desired effect, though, if the question in his eyes was any indication. After a moment he cast a glance over his shoulder, then the other, and casually took a step up to meet her. 

“What would you have me call you, then?” he asked, much quieter now that they were much closer.

“I think you already know.”

Another step. And another, and another, and Sansa Stark was eye to eye with the man she hadn’t thought to ever see again though she never stopped believing he was alive. 

“Little bird.”

A shiver went through her again, but it had nothing to do with the cold. She hadn’t expected to feel so small when he said that, hadn’t expected the distance between them to vanish so completely. 

“Yes?”

His eyes were warm now, cheek twitching as he pressed his lips together to fight a smile. 

“Still a little bird, are you?”

Sansa balked, suddenly unsure of his meaning. Unsure of his intent. She had thought of it as something they shared, remembered it as something special. It was a name she had grown to like, because it was from him, and it was theirs together. But she _wasn’t_ a little bird anymore. 

In a heartbeat the years melted away and she was a child again, bright-eyed and eager to please, chirping out the practiced lines Septa Mordane had taught her. Stupidly in love with a monster and blind to his failings. Trusting the wrong people, helping the wrong people, helpless and begging-- always begging-- pleading for mercy and always being denied. Just a silly little girl who couldn’t even look at him without tears springing to her eyes, rattled by every ugly truth she’d encountered and desperately trying to explain them away, certain the singers couldn’t have all been wrong.

Even in the Vale she’d been just as helpless but in entirely new ways, naively clinging to the belief that Petyr would protect her, would protect Sweetrobin though in the deepest corners of her heart she knew the truth. Doing whatever he said, accepting whatever he said. She’d had absolutely no options and no way to escape, and _still_ she’d dreamt of a happy ending to it all. 

True, sometimes she wished she _could_ still be that little girl. That little bird. It had been such a hard journey to get to where she was now, after all, with many many heartbreaks along the way. But it was better now. _She_ was better now. And she’d always thought if ever they found each other again he would be _pleased_ at the woman she’d become. Instead she found herself wondering if maybe he preferred her the other way.

The thought had never occurred to her. And now that it had, the words she’d been craving from him suddenly felt like an insult. 

“No… no,” she shook her head. “I’m not. Not anymore.”

The air around them stilled. He was disappointed, she could tell, and Sansa felt utterly alone. When he spoke again it was with a formality she hadn’t expected. 

“What are you now, then?”

“Smart. Strong.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “Brave.”

She lifted her chin to him, dared him to remember a time when she _couldn’t_ have looked him in the eyes. Surely he could see it now, all the changes for the better. But then he took another step towards her and that confidence faltered, even more so when his fingers brushed against hers. 

“You always were those things, little bird.”

Sansa hesitated. He believed it, she could tell. But he was wrong. 

“I wasn’t _any_ of those things,” she insisted, hurt that he would lie to her. “I was _stupid_. You _know_ I was.”

“You saw the good things in people and wanted to help them,” he countered. “I’d say you still do.”

A hand landed ever so lightly at her elbow, fingers brushed all the way down her arm but didn’t linger and she knew exactly who he was referring to, knew he wasn’t wrong.

Being a little bird didn’t really feel like an insult anymore. 

“Will you always call me that?” 

He huffed. “If you like.” 

The back of his hand bumped against hers again, replacing the lonely feelings of just a moment ago with the knowledge that she had an ally, a friend beside her. He always _had_ been, she realized. Even when it was hard to tell. She couldn’t help but smile.

“I thought I’d never hear those words again.” 

“I thought I’d never have a reason to say them.”

This time when his hand brushed her she reached for him, curled her fingers around his, watched for any sign that he liked it though his expression remained as inscrutable as always.

“I pray you’re as pleased as I am to be wrong.”

His cheek was twitching again, his eyes still warm as his curious fingers played with her own. Sansa was no stranger to a man’s touch but this… this was different. This was precious. It seemed there was a message conveyed there in his touch, the soft heat in his eyes. If he kissed her now she would know; for just the tiniest skip of a heartbeat she was certain that he _would_. 

But then a scuff of leather sounded against stone and a torch-lit shadow appeared on the wall and Jon slowed to a stop when he spotted him, eyed them with a chill as cold as winter though they now had an appropriate distance between them. 

“Lady Stark,” Sandor said, nodding at her then at Jon. “Lord Stark.”

And then he was gone, descending the stairs into darkness as if he’d simply been passing through and hadn’t left Sansa breathless and needy and under the scrutiny of her suspicious brother. That suspicion, though, was not directed at _her._

“I hadn’t thought…” Jon started, worry coloring his tone before the sentence trailed off. And she knew what he was thinking, knew what he was remembering. Knew what he was concerned about. “Maybe we could send him…”

“He won’t bother me,” she interrupted, assuaging his fear before he had a chance to voice it. “He loves me.”

Jon recoiled. 

“Truly?”

“Yes.” 

She’d always suspected it. Now she was convinced. 

In the courtyard below Sandor Clegane emerged from the shadows. She watched his easy, unhurried strides, the almost imperceptible turn of his head, his eyes darting upward to where she stood. When she smiled at him she could feel it in her heart. 

“And I love him.”


End file.
